The Art of Translation
by Adeadlymusician
Summary: Bertholdt had gotten some pretty weird requests in his days as a florist, but nothing could have prepared him for the storm that was Eren Jaeger.


Prompt by demisexualmarill on tumblr: Person A owns a flower shop and Person B comes storming in one day, slaps twenty bucks on the counter and says "How do I passive-aggressively say fuck you in flower?"

* * *

Bertholdt hummed quietly, trimming the thorns off the red roses. He added them sparsely to his current project, an apology bouquet, before going to stand against the counter, yawning. It was getting late, and while he enjoyed his job at his flower shop, Bertholdt was looking forward to going home and crashing on the couch. He had inherited it from his father, whom had passed away several years ago. He was good at making arrangements: his father had said that he always had the eye for putting together bouquets.

The building was relatively hidden from view of the public, a factor that Bertholdt appreciated, but he got enough business to pay the bills. He had gotten his fair share of unusual customers: those whom were in love, those whom were in mourning, and those whom were angry. All of his bouquets were commission only, so he had to face these people up front. Not the best for his ever-present anxiety, but he managed just fine. Or so he hoped.

The door slammed opened suddenly, bells chiming aggressively in response. Bertholdt shook his head, clearing his thoughts. He sighed. It was going to be one of those customers. He waited in anticipation for the angry yell of a disgruntled customer. Instead, a twenty dollar bill was slammed down on the countertop. The flower shop owner looked up in surprise to stare into sea green eyes. They were clouded with anger, admittedly, but Bertholdt couldn't deny their beauty. Their power.

"Hello. How may I help you?" Bertholdt asked after a moment of tense silence. The boy contemplated his words for a moment before sighing heavily.

"... How do you say fuck you in flower?" The boy inquired quietly. Bertholdt raised an eyebrow. This was... different. He has had his fair share of emotional guests, but never quite like this.

"Excuse me?" He asked, more amused than offended. "I don't think we've met before. Have I done something?"

"You haven't. But my employer has," The boy said, not skipping a beat, his eyes ablaze. "Nobody dares to say it to his face, however. They're too busy kissing his ass to say anything."

Bertholdt contemplated for a moment. "This person is your boss? Are you sure that's a smart idea?"

"Yes, this person is my boss. It's probably not a good idea, but I don't care," He said, tapping his foot. "Are you going to do it or…? It doesn't need to be big, just noticeable."

"I-" Bertholdt started. The customer in front of him was clearly one to picks fights regardless if he could actually win them. Would it be smart to indulge the customer…? He had enough money saved up for the bills this month and while the smaller teen was calm(er) at the moment, all it would take would be one small mistake to set him off...

Why the hell not? As long Bertholdt didn't get blamed for the fallout. He went into the back room, took inventory of some flowers, and choose the ones he thought fit this mysterious newcomer best.

"When do you need it by? I can do it right now if you like," Bertholdt called from the back room. There was silence for a moment before the boy spoke up.

"Today would be good," The teen replied. Bertholdt hummed and affirmative and got to work. He ignored the prick of anxiety in his stomach and picked a medium sized pot. He made Orange Lillies and Yellow Carnations be the main attraction, littering Buttercups and Butterfly Weed to fill up the empty space. Bertholdt considered adding some red to the mix, but he only had red roses in stock and he had a feeling that having a flower that represented love wouldn't be appropriate. Once he was satisfied, the florist walked out to where the green-eyed teen was standing.

"Buttercup for childishness. Butterfly Weed for Leave me. Yellow Carnation for Disdain and Orange Lillies for hatred. Is this acceptable?" Bertholdt asked as he put the finishing touches on the arrangement. The other boy contemplated for a moment before nodding.

"Can I get your signature in a moment?" Bertholdt asked, typing the information into the register, the familiar ping of the buttons calming his anxiety. He placed the bill into the register, closed the cash compartment, and waited for the receipts to print.

"Here you go. Just sign here," The florist said. The teenager elegantly signed his name (a juxtaposition to his angry nature) on one of them, taking the other for himself. The boy handed the receipt to the florist. The signature read "Eren Jaeger"

"Good luck," Bertholdt awkwardly said, unsure as to why he said anything in the first place. This was by far one of the weirdest encounter he had ever had in his entire life. Eren merely grinned in return.

"Thanks! I'll need it,"

* * *

A couple of days later, Eren came strolling in through the entrance of the flower shop. Bertholdt looked up, surprised to see the familiar face so soon. The brunette leaned across the counter, smirking.

"Do you need something?" Bertholdt asked, smiling shyly. "How did it go?"

"I got fired," Eren said with a completely blank look on his face. Bertholdt coughed.

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, I got fired. The bastard knew what the flowers were right away and immediately blamed me. Apparently, his wife's friend had an interest in flower language," Eren said dramatically, clutching his heart. "I was so heartbroken that he didn't bother to ask if they really were from me."

"Who was your employer?"

"Erwin Smith," Eren said blankly. Bertholdt did a double take, bracing himself on the counter. There was no way…

"The Erwin Smith? The model?" The taller one asked incredulously. Eren nodded, the corners of his mouth turning upward.

"Yep. I was one of their photographers," Eren said, flashing a grin. Bertholdt's heart stopped for a moment. He prayed that no one that was working for Eren knew his style.

"Don't worry: the bastard was too worried about firing me to ask where I got them," The teen reassured, his eyes glinting knowingly. A moment passed with neither of them saying anything. An awkward silence blanketed the small shop.

"If… you don't mind me asking, why did you drop by? You must have a better use of your time than to hang around me," The taller boy inquired. Eren feigned innocence, tracing random shapes on the counter.

"I stopped by to ask for a job," The brunette stated bluntly.

Bertholdt snorted. "I highly doubt you have any knowledge of flowers," He said, amused. Eren glared at him.

"Well, I can take good pictures of them at least," He murmured, his face flushing slightly. Bertholdt thought the look was adorable on him.

"And why would I need pictures?" Bertholdt asked, locking eyes with Eren. The brunette looked slightly panicked at being questioned. Was he making up excuses on the fly?

"To grow your business, of course," Eren said, his eyes twitching slightly. Bertholdt chuckled, setting his apron aside. He walked around the counter to stand face-to-face with Eren without a barrier between them.

"If you want to get to know me, you could just ask, you know," Bertholdt said, amusement shining in his eye. Eren spluttered, his face flushing madly. Bertholdt chuckled again.

"I'm Bertholdt Fubar," The taller introduced, holding out his hand.

"I'm Eren Jager," Eren mumbled, clumsily shaking the person's hand in front of him. Bertholdt smiled.

"Nice to meet you. My friend runs this cafe nearby. Do you want to have breakfast together sometime?" The florist asked, a small smile on his face. Eren looked up, his eyes shining with joy.

"I'd love to,"

* * *

 **A/N:** This ship doesn't get enough love XD I've had this drafted up for a while, but I decided to wait on it. Apparently, my brain decided that today was the day I had to post it. Joy!

Also I am no florist so please don't castrate me about the flower choices kay?

As always, feel free to comment. Just don't be a dick about it.


End file.
